Unexpected Reunion
by sundance-gurl
Summary: What happened in the factory? Robin's on her own reflecting on the events of that night. read and find out what happened. RA. I'm still working on it.


_Alright y'all, this is my first Witch Hunter Robin fic, so please be nice. But before I start…_

_Disclaimer: Although you're all probably aware, I don't own Witch Hunter Robin, its characters or its plots, and am merely borrowing them to twist into my own fun story of what I wished would've happened. (why oh why didn't Amon kiss her?!?!?!)_

"_thoughts"_

"speaking"

_And now that that's out of the way… on with the show._

**Unexpected Reunion**

It had been another long day. Come to think of it, everyday seemed to have been longer than the day preceding it. It could have been the jet leg, or the few hours sleep she granted herself, she wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps her body was finally starting to submit to the sheer exhaustion and the stress of constantly looking over her shoulder, having been living on the run for the last six years.

_Six years? Had it been that long? _she wondered. Time seemed to have been playing tricks on her. She could feel the hours, down to every tick of the second hand, yet it seemed like yesterday when her life took a drastic turn for the worst.

She stood in her small apartment by her double windows, sipping at a hot cup of tea and listening to the soft classical music of Mozart drifting lightly from the old AM radio on the kitchen counter. A strange choice of music for her, maybe, but in a country where she barely understood a word of what the locals were saying, it was refreshing to hear the calming sounds of a piano. Her gaze glided over the various sights of the city night lights of Amsterdam. Clad only in a white cotton tank top and a pair of white cotton pajama pants, she hugged her middle with her right arm (her left holding a cup of tea) in an attempt to fight of the light chill from the cool summer evening breeze coming in through the slightly open window. Although her attention seemed focused on the city below, her mind quickly engulfed her in memories of the past. Painful memories, of relatively normal and peaceful times, of good friends, and of…him.

To this day she still couldn't believe how she had managed to escaped from the factory as the walls came down around her. In the end she decided to name it a miracle granted to her by the ever-living Lord, it could only have been by His hand that she was standing here today. However, the fact that she had barely made it out only served to despair her, rather than offer her any comfort. There was no doubt in her mind that her beloved partner hadn't survived, no matter how much she wished it otherwise. The pain was like a sharp stab in the heart every time she thought about it and the pain only intensified as she replayed every detail she could remember over in her mind. If only she hadn't delayed by stopping to incinerate the trapped witches, if only she had run faster to get to the end of the hallway, if only she had insisted that he go ahead of her through the air vent that lead to their safety, if only she hadn't been so slow, if only, if only.

Why had she delayed? Looking back she supposed her sudden loss of innocence had put her in a state of shock. Having just found out her true heritage, if it could be called that, on top of the knowledge that there were lots of people who had wanted her dead since the moment she was born, or created as the case may be, mix all that with a new responsibility to save the entire witch existence and that powerful cocktail could quickly intoxicate and easily force anyone from blissfully ignorant childhood and harshly throw them into cold reality.

It was strange. When she had been looking in on the trapped witches she had heard them in her head as if they were standing right beside her. She had heard Amon and Karasuma too, but their voices had been distant and muffled, as if she were under water. If it hadn't been for Amon physically pushing her along, she probably wouldn't have ever moved and would have been killed by falling debris. Even as she and Amon had run the length of the hall, rubble had been showering down around her. She could count at least three times that she would have easily been crushed had Amon not been dragging her on, his firm hold practically bruising her wrist.

Once they had made it to… she actually couldn't really remember where they had been within the facility. Sure she had run down a hall but it had all been too chaotic to remember exactly where she had ended up. Anyways, once they had made it, Amon had quickly pulled down the grate that barred the entry to the vent above them, while she had shielded them with her craft (that too only happened due to a firm command from her partner). Once the grate was removed Amon had pulled out one of his handguns and quickly slipped in into her pocket. "Just in case" he had said with a meaningful look. She had been so afraid to think of what kind of "just in case" Amon had expected her to run into, but the weight of the weapon did provide some perverse comfort to her. He had then non-to gently picked her up and lifted her to the vent, instructing her not to wait and to start crawling west. Perhaps it had been her shocked state or the tone in his voice but she had been surprisingly compliant, whereas had it been under other circumstances she wouldn't have moved an inch without him. Either way it hadn't been long before she had felt his hurrying presence behind her, urging her to pick up the pace, which had been difficult, not to mention painful, due to a sprained ankle she had received after tripping over loose rubble during the last stretch of their sprint down the hall.

They had moved relatively quickly through the vent without experiencing anything threatening besides the movements and vibrations of the tunnel caused by the building collapsing. That was until the vent caved in on top of them. She had only been buried from her thighs down, suffering a few scraps on her hands and along her sides where sharp debris had cut her, she also had a nasty cut on the back of her head and some deep cuts on her legs. She had wiggled herself out from the rocks that buried her and looked back to survey the damage. She had called for Amon no less than ten times, breaking down into tears when she received no answer. Regrettably she had turned and continued to the safety outside; meeting no one once she had made it across the river and through the surrounding woods.

That had been the last time she ever saw him. After all they had been through together their relationship had been abruptly ended. Every day since her flight from Japan she had prayed and dreamed that he had somehow made it out of the factory as she had. She had taken a second look over her shoulder every time she feared she was being hunted hoping to see his tall, handsome form in the shadows. But he never was, and never would be.

Shaking her head from the painful thoughts, she tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear before taking a sip of her tea, only to find that it had gone stone cold. She sighed deeply and turned away from the window, glancing around the place she had been calling home for the past four months, the longest she'd stayed in one place since being on the run.

Her meager apartment wasn't great by any means, but neither was it a dump. Actually considering the somewhat shady neighborhood where it was located, it was a bargain. For a rent of just four hundred American dollars a month she had the furniture, even if it was pretty worn, as well as her water and heat included, so long as she stuck to her landlord's budget. It had the privacy she needed to allow her to stay as long as she had, as long as she kept her head down. She didn't really use any electricity at all. Lighting candles and the wood stove were some of the few things she used her craft for these days, and most anything else she used, such as her little radio, could use batteries.

Making her way to her small kitchen, her path was dimly lit by the glow of the lone candle she had paced on the bar-like counter which separated the kitchen from the small living room. The light reflected somewhat off the mirror on the back of her closed bedroom door, located across from the kitchen and only a few feet down the short hall from the front door. Even with the reflection of light the apartment was still very dark and most was shrouded in shadows. She had come to prefer the darkness, feeling some shelter within it, as if her guardian was somehow always there, still protecting her from the evils of the world.

Placing her mug in the sink, she stared blankly at the wall, her gaze distant and introspective. She idly raised her hand to rest on her hip, her fingers moving of their own accord to her upper leg, mindlessly tracing the tiny scars left from her factory escape through the thin material of her bottoms.

The journey from the factory had been painful. She had fallen countless times and hovered on the brink of consciousness through the whole thing. She had traveled in what she assumed was a western direction, back towards the city, although she had known that in her condition she wouldn't be able to make it very far. The trek hadn't been too difficult, in the sense that there weren't any sharp inclines or any deep rivers she'd had to cross. She would often reach a hand into her pocket to touch the gun that rest there, Amon's gun. Whenever she felt her determination dwindling, it had offered her the securing and encouraging presence that she'd used to receive from her partner, the will to push herself harder, to grow stronger. Thankfully, after two days of hard hiking, she reached the edge of the forest and stumbled upon a farmhouse after a mile of walking across the field which surrounded it. Half walking, half crawling, she pulled herself onto the porch and knocked on the door, collapsing in a heap in front of it, her vision blurring as she waited. She sat a moment propped against the doorframe and had fallen into darkness from the exhaustion and pain of her body just as the door opened.

She had awakened to the sharp whistle of a kettle and the glare of the sun pouring through the curtained window. It was impossible for her to have known how long she had been asleep for or where exactly she was or who had taken care of her. She had pulled herself into as comfortable an upright position as she could manage, confused thoughts circling her head. As she had sat in thought, her eyes had scanned the room noticing the simple style in which it was decorated. The room had been cozy, containing only a cedar chest, a night stand, an upright mirror, a chest of drawers and the bed she was resting upon. Her clothing had been folded and laid on the cedar chest at the foot of the bed, her coat hung over the corner of the mirror. Finally her eyes rested on the night stand beside her, on which rested Amon's gun.

She had reached over and gently picked it up, resting it in her lap, tears clouding her vision as she thought of its owner. The questions that had earlier plagued her mind had resurfaced and she had received her answers perhaps a half an hour after she had awoken, by the owner of the house, a kindly old woman that had tended to her. Robin had quickly pulled the covers up over her lap, effectively hiding the gun from view when the woman had entered the room with a tray of food, a warm smile on her face. The woman, Maria, had placed the tray on the bed next to Robin, before she had sat down on the edge of the bed beside it. Maria had answered her questions the best she could as Robin had eaten quietly on the bed, making an extra effort not to spill anything on the knitted pink comforter covering the bed.

She had stayed with Maria until she had recovered, approximately eight days, including the three she had been unconscious for. The last day she was at the farmhouse, she had helped Maria with some chores as a slight repayment for the care the woman had shown her, although she hadn't been able to do too much, at the insistence of Maria that she may tire or re-injure herself, but she felt she had assisted enough to allow Maria to rest a bit, having dusted, cleaned dishes and fed the hens. The woman had not made her actions any easier by nagging and emphasizing how she had lived on the farm her whole life doing the same daily chores without assistance. After which Robin had politely stated that she would feel guilty if she did nothing. Maria had reacted by shaking her head, tisking and muttering under her breath about arrogant children who were too reckless with their health.

That last day had also been the day she had contacted Nagira. Maria, although she had greatly enjoyed Robin's company, felt that it was time that she inform her family and friends of her location and condition. Robin had sat at the kitchen table staring at the phone in front of her for what seemed like hours, debating on just who she should call. There had been no doubt in her mind that everyone believed her to be dead, how could they not when the last they saw of her was deep in the Factory as it began to collapse. For some reason she had concluded that it would be advantageous if she allowed everyone to continue to think she had perished in the Factory. Too much time spent with Amon she supposed. Therefore she was unable to contact any of her former coworkers. If any of them discovered the truth then it would be only a matter of time before Solomon found out too, who, for all she knew, were still out for her blood. That hadn't left too many people on her list that she'd trusted enough with her life. There was Harry, however he socialized with her coworkers almost on a daily basis, not that she didn't trust him, she just hadn't want to endanger the kind man.

That had left only Nagira. The problem with that though had been getting a hold of him without causing suspicion. She couldn't call the office because his secretary would most likely recognize her voice, however if she called his cell there was a good chance of catching him unawares, in which case he might make a scene wherever he was, it wasn't every day that you receive a call from a dead person. Shortly after this thought, though, she had banished it from her mind. This was Nagira she was talking about, Amon's older half brother. Although Nagira was more fun loving and less uptight than Amon, he was by no means careless and could easily put on the emotionless mask his brother had been famous for.

With that in mind, she had picked up the hand set from the receiver with an attentive hand as if she feared it would bite her. Holding it to her ear, she had stared at the old circular dialer trying to translate the number sequence as she'd used to type into her cell. A few minutes and a wrong numbers later, Nagira's strong voice had resounded in her ear. His reaction had been difficult to gage over the phone, he had definitely been shocked when she had first spoken, she'd hoped it hadn't shown in his features, and that he had managed to quickly adapt to the situation, as she knew he could. He had insisted the conversation be brief, warning her of Solomon's recent surveillance on everyone who had survived the Factory incident. He had then gone on to tell her that he would meet her at her place. This had confused her, how could he have known where she was? With the little extra information that he had given her she had been able to piece together where he intended to find her. "I'll be by your place tomorrow for lunch. Honestly I can't believe your living in that hell hole apartment, but that's your choice kid. I hope your room mate doesn't mind me dropping in." Trust Nagira to be as cryptic and paranoid as his brother was.

Just the thought of her old apartment had sent an unpleasant shiver up her spine. She hadn't stepped foot in that place alone since it had been attacked, and the only other time she had been there after that, she hadn't stepped past the front entrance hall, only staying a total of two minutes. Even then she had been assaulted by memories of that awful night.

She had been at full attention from the moment her cab had entered the city. She had pulled her coat tight around her form in an attempt to ward off the vicious rain and cold chill that threatened to consume her being. She had had her glasses perched on her nose and her hands buried in her pocket, her right hand tightly grasping the handle of the gun, again more so for comfort than to actually be used. She had taken as many back routes as she could, having avoided the major streets, especially the ones on which she knew her coworkers traveled often, in fear of being recognized. With every step she had taken, the pain and loneliness of her missing partner and the dread of returning to her old apartment intensified, overwhelming her and nearly causing her to turn around. However Nagira was her best chance of getting out of Japan undetected, her survival relied on him.

She had walked for god-knows how long, having been soaked to the bone despite her best efforts to ward off the rain. Thankfully by that time she had only been two blocks away from her destination, and had picked up the pace, desperate to dry off her very wet and uncomfortable clothing. However, with her full concentration on getting to the apartment as fast as possible, she had failed to notice the shadow that had begun to follow behind her.

She had traveled another block and begun to turn down the street towards the apartment when the figure had revealed itself to her, pulling her back from the open street into the ally. What had been the most unsettling about it was that she hadn't been physically pulled back. After having pushed herself up out of a dirty puddle, she had stood and turned to face her opponent only to find him ten feet away from her. Her immediate plan had been to incinerate him with her craft. Her attacker had been much larger than she and there had been no way for her to battle him in any other fashion at her size. She had therefore attempted to raise a shield around herself. It had held for a few seconds before dissipating. Confused, she had tried again; it had flickered around her but hadn't held. Having seen her dilemma, her assailant had used that moment to "throw" garbage cans her way using his craft. She had had a difficult time dodging the seven cans hurling through the air. She had tried again to call forth her flame but every time it would sizzle out shortly after she had summoned it. Then it had hit her, it had been pouring rain in the city for the past two days, everything had been so wet that the flame couldn't catch, even the air around her. Panic had gripped her at the realization, as strongly as the witch's power had held her lower half immobile, prohibiting her from running. She had tried with all her might to lift her feet, move her legs, anything. The witch had begun to walk towards her, a sadistic smirk on his face. In a last act of desperation her hand had, of its own accord, quickly dove into her pocket and withdrew the gun.

She had been shocked to find herself standing over the dead corps of the witch, watching the blood seep out of the two bullet wounds in his chest in morbid fascination, with a child-like curiosity in her eyes. Her gaze had then shifted to the gun in her hand, smoke circling out of the barrel, still hot from the recent shots. What had come over her? She had acted as if on autopilot, by instinct. How could that have been? The attack had been the first time she had ever fired a gun, the force of the shot causing her hand to jerk back, it had terrified her. She had killed someone. It may not have been the first person she had killed but this had been completely different from incineration, there had been blood, a body, a face staring blankly at her. She hadn't liked it, it had been too messy, too personal.

She had quickly turned and practically ran the rest of the way to the apartment. Once there, she had cautiously entered the building through the front entrance and had shaken some of the water from her coat once inside. She then began to slowly climbing the stairs to reach the door to her former residence. Her heart had still been pounding from the recent encounter, as she had cautiously entered the apartment, fighting back the fear of the memories that arose.

Her hand had still held the gun as she had jumped and turned towards the sudden noise of a creaky floor board to her right. She had automatically raised the gun, aiming at the new threat, only to find Nagira with his hands raised casually by his head, a worried and surprised look on his face.

"Jesus Robin, what the hell happened to you? You look like shit, kid."

Relieved and horrified, she all but dropped the weapon and let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding. Nagira had lowered his hands then and slowing approached her, enveloping her into a tight embrace, as if welcoming her as a long lost relative. Although, now that Amon was gone, perhaps Nagira had considered her as his little sister, having been the last to see his brother alive. As he held her, she could no longer resist the sting of her eyes and allowed herself to cry.

_My deepest apologies loyal readers, I originally intended for this to be a one-shot, however, due to a heavy schedule I have had this story collecting dust for almost two years. Pathetic, I know, and that is why I'm posting this much, because I have worked hard on this. So I hope to get the remainder of this story written ASAP, but I warn you, I probably won't get a chance until April, possibly later. I hope you enjoy this much and I hope to hear your thoughts. Do you like it, hate it, think I'm horrible, or brilliant? Please review and let me know._

_Cheers_

_Sundance-gurl_


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